This week, Louis C.K. performed two stand-up sets in New York City. The New York Times reported that he did not discuss his sexual harassment scandal much except when he kicked things off. “So what kind of year have you guys had?” he said at the start of his act. “They tell you that when you get in trouble you find out who your real friends are. Its black people, it turns out. Theyll stick by you.”
Clearly, C.K. doesnt want to talk about his actions and hasnt given the subject much thought or he would have come up with a better joke. Heres the kind of thoughtfulness and honesty that Id like to hear from him instead:
FANTASY LOUIS C.K. SET FOR HIS “MIND IF I JERK OFF?” TOUR
So maybe youve heard—I like to masturbate. And Ive got a feeling that Im not alone. Raise your hand if you like to masturbate. (Raises hand normally then turns it into a grip and pumps.) Yeah!
Now, Ive been masturbating a long time. Im 51 and probably started around 11, which means Ive been masturbating longer than Ive been driving—and Im a really good driver.
And, remember, when I was a teenager, we didnt have 24/7 access to naked women on the porn box, I mean laptop. But Ill be honest—I didnt need it back then. All I needed was six minutes and a catalogue. It didnt even have to be Victorias Secret. It could be the Farmers Almanac. “You say April and June will be wet? . . . GAAAHHHH.”
Of course, as I got older, I needed more stimulation. A partner was great, but not always an option. Its like if you call a pal and say, “Hey, Im hungry. Lets go get a pizza,” and they say, “Nah, I already ate.” You dont say, “Oh well, then I guess I wont eat either.” You go get that pizza alone and make a pig of yourself.
Then Internet porn came along and made it so much easier to make a pig of yourself. We went from grabbing videos and hoping theyd have 30 seconds of a kink that turned us on to getting really specific with our search terms: “uneven breasts” . . . “nipple rings” . . . “into anal and scrimshaw.”
This advance in porn technology coincided with me being on the road a lot. Which means I masturbated a lot. But heres the thing—Im a narcissist. So it was only a matter of time before I started thinking, “Why am I always the audience? Why isnt anyone watching me?” Now, the obvious answer was I already had an audience on most nights. I was doing stand-up and after an hour of verbal masturbation, I could have ended my act by dropping my pants and . . . (mimes jerking off) The big finish. Splooge! Good night everybody!
Heres why I didnt do that. In 2013—this is absolutely true—a Japanese comic stripped off his pants during a set and was threatened with a public-indecency charge. Now, him getting questioned by police wasnt what stopped me. I just didnt want to be accused of stealing another comics act.
Then I hit on a new idea: what if I asked any female that I found myself in a room alone with to watch me masturbate? It would probably be a colleague or mentee—you know, someone who admired me. And I would always get consent first, right? Im a gentleman, so Id say something like, “Prithee, mlady, wouldst thou fain to gaze upon my dick?”
Sometimes they were so shocked they couldnt even answer. I took their silence as a yes. Also, did I say I would always ask first? Thats not quite true. Sometimes Id be on the phone with someone and Id just jump in. Wankers away!
And look, some women were into it. My pal Sarah Silverman told Howard Stern that watching me pleasure myself was “amazing”—her word, not mine. But not everyone liked it. Ive since learned that my actions bummed out some of those admirers. Which surprised me. I thought when I offered to give them career advice and then got all freaky and sexual, they would just roll with it. Like, there are scientists who jerk off walruses as part of their job. You dont hear them complain.
But these women did. They told a few people about what Id done. And Ill be honest, I didnt like that. I thought those women were very rude.
Now, sure, Ive talked about feeling shame in my act. But I was always the one controlling what I revealed. I did not consent to these women exposing my shame. And I felt embarrassed. So I did what a lot of men do when were embarrassed. You all know. (To audience:) What do we do?
We blame other people. “Im not the problem. Theyre the problem.” If those women were so grossed out, why didnt they just leave the room? I wasnt holding them hostage. If they stayed for the happy ending, that was on them. And the woman on the phone when I started jerking off—why was that a big deal? What if I were picking my nose or cutting my toenails? Whyd she make the story all about her when she had nothing to do with it?
My ex-manager tried to contain the talk. And when anyone asked me about it point blank, Id say, “Its bullshit, man.” Because in the creeps toolbox, right next to “blaming others” is “outright lying.” Its not my fault people believed me.
People thought my stand-up was all about telling the truth. I even got a bunch of awards for revealing the ugliness of show business. And now its clear: I totally deserved all those awards because I was a much better actor than everyone thought.
Look, no one wants to admit theyre a horrible person. Were all the heroes of our own stories. But not in this case. The guy holding his dick is really the guy holding his dick. The women who came forward are the heroes. Thats why I called each of them to apologize personally. And I told them if they wanted to yell at me, they could. And they did.
I also instructed my manager to help the women I took advantage of. Theyre hilarious and deserve that. Like on this tour, I have a different woman opening for me in each city. Im also giving half the proceeds of this tour and all the proceeds of the streaming special to Times Up. I hope that helps. It doesnt take the embarrassment away, but Im done blaming anyone but myself.
Thats my time. I promise Ill get back to making jokes about cell phones soon. Thanks for letting me jerk off all over you. The pleasure was all mine.
Nell Scovell is the author of Just the Funny Parts, about her 30 year-career in Hollywood.
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